


Downers

by virusq



Series: m o n s t e r s [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Thrawn Trilogy - Timothy Zahn
Genre: Drug Use, Gen, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Unbeta'd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:20:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24344890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/virusq/pseuds/virusq
Summary: It's impossible to maintain an air of dignity and control while sprawled half naked on floor cushions between two large slumbering canines but that's Monday morning for Talon Karrde.
Relationships: Talon Karrde/Quelev Tapper
Series: m o n s t e r s [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1754248
Comments: 5
Kudos: 3





	Downers

**Author's Note:**

> I started this in an elevator. It hurt on multiple levels.
> 
> Unbeta'd.

He never understood the appeal of watching a sunset. Sunsets are time consuming and tedious. Stars, infinite and timeless, adjust to no man's schedule. Time is the one precious resource businessmen like Talon Karrde can't package and sell. The universe is made of stars: once you've seen one celestial body drop beyond the horizon, you've seen them all. 

A _sunrise_ however, is a luxurious concession: a bright spot in recurring shadow, a glittering prize for surviving the night.

The sun creeps into the horizon, reaching over the forest canopy, pushing its warmth through the labyrinthine branches. The light spills through his room like phosphor, pushing darkness away with a warming glow. Shades of black and grey liven into hues of pink and purple.

He inhales slowly, intentionally, focusing his never-quiet mind on the jewel-tones, the meditative act of breathing, the gentle warmth of the body pressed beside him. He loses himself in the tactile caress of his fingertips, idly raking his fingers across the scalp of the brunette in his lap.

It's a fantasy. The edges of his perception are drunk and fuzzy, like bourbon in the sun. The strain of consciously drifting between the warm illusion and cold reality makes his eyes water. He scrubs his face with his free hand and reclines, sinking deeper into the cushions, deeper into the drug-fueled haze.

"This shavit is bad for business," his companion's words are muffled by a cheek pressed against his thigh.

Karrde smiles, warm breath ghosting across his pant leg. He continues to stroke the man's hair. "Perhaps we should quit."

"Maybe you should quit," he snorts.

Karrde knows he shouldn't argue with the man, it only feeds his antagonism. It's easier to read him when he can see his face.

His face, though. He can't see his face.

Paranoia tickles the back of Karrde's mind. Something about the thought of not being able to see the man's eyes nags him. 

The sharp _tink_ of nails on glass dashes the illusion.

Mara Jade crouches before him, blocking the warmth and sun. Her hair is a halo of wildfire in the light, her arms and legs tight and too close for comfort. A predator ready to strike. 

She shakes an empty vial. "Wow. Real bad for business."

Karrde pauses, caught in an unexpected and compromising position. His hand stills, dreading his companion's reaction to the intrusion.

Mara watches him, her eyes scanning the scene with disinterest.

_Casual_ disinterest. 

Reality snaps into place like a sobering dunk in cold water. A wave of nausea fills the holes left by the drug's disassociation.

There's nothing _interesting_ about an old man petting his dog.

It's impossible to maintain an air of dignity and control while sprawled half naked on floor cushions between two large slumbering canines but that's Monday morning for Talon Karrde. Caution sinks its claws into his spine and he stiffens, levering himself up on his elbows to meet her gaze. His frown is audible. "Good morning, Mara."

She doesn't budge, choosing instead to settle in for a business address served from her haunches. She laces her fingers together thoughtfully. "You talk in your sleep."

He waves a hand to lazily encompass the room. "I sleep alone."

"About Tapper."

Karrde freezes, every ounce of willpower straining to maintain the dismissive air. It's harder to reign in emotions with your senses fraying at the seams. Without flexing a muscle, she's reached into his chest and turned the knife. There's a hole in reality, a phantom pain he can't see.

He can still feel Tapper's hair across his fingers. 

No. Not Tapper's. Drang's.

Shassa. It _is_ bad for business.

Karrde presses his lips together in a tighter line. He doesn't move. Doesn't suffer her inquiry with a verbal response.

She doesn't need one. 

She's already pieced together that dynamic in their short time on Varonat, where he was someone else and she was some else, and Tapper --

Mara relents, feigning boredom, and pockets a couple of pink vials brazenly. She stands and wades out of the cushions, the too-loud click of her boots reverberating through his skull. 

Her back turned, Karrde sags. His lungs are ice and his shoulders ache. His _beard_ is too loud as his jaw flexes. 

"Who's Jorj?"

"A colleague."

"Colleague like Booster or colleague like Tapper?"

Karrde exhales. "Former mentor."

Conceding to sobriety, Karrde gets up and pulls on a shirt. He digs through the cushions for a hair tie and collects spent paraphernalia in the process.

Mara leans on his desk, patiently watching him clean from across the room.

"Have you thought about not?"

"Not?"

"Sleeping alone."

Karrde lifts an eyebrow. "Is that an offer?"

"No." Mara gestures thoughtfully. "Aves wouldn't turn you down."

Composed, and standing at his full height in the center of his domain, he offers her a smile backed with waning patience. "I trust you have _actual_ business, Ms. Jade?"

She studies him a moment longer, her youth overshadowed by the tightly wound spring of Imperial military training and Coruscanti protocols. "Ghent has been rerouting calls from Booster for the last hour." 

"Booster should try calling during business hours."

She shifts her weight, her shoulders tensing. "You weren't answering your comm."

There's a discomfort in her voice, a shade closer to relief than anger. He watches her quietly, giving the repressed emotion room to breathe.

"No," he says, finally. 

The whisper of emotion vanishes. She stands up and claps her hands on her thighs, summoning the vornskrs. "It's time for a run."

Mara absconds with the muscular quadrupeds without giving him a second thought.

Alone, Karrde braves an attempt to escape the uneven cushions. He treads stiffly, everything from feet to hair heavy with the last dregs of narcotics in his system. At his desk, he thumbs on a datapad, skimming over reports while his brain comes up to speed.

Gillespie's expecting an itinerary for Ketaris. Ghent has the report on the La'mellar Manufacturing buyout he'd requested. Dankin has completed a shipment through Stovarr and is returning to the _Starry Ice_. The Hilitif family failed to report in after a rendezvous with an Imperial Remnant cell on Duros.

Booster has left five incomplete messages.

Karrde pauses and inhales slowly. He sets down the datapad and turns back to the window. Eyes closed, he can still feel the buzz on the fringe of his senses. 

Sunlight kisses his eyelids and he focuses on that. The usual musk and whiskey scent the room collects in corners offers brightens with a new green topnote: Mara's soap?

His fingertips tingle, the sharp pinpricks of a sleeping limb.

He opens his eyes.

Dust motes dance in the burgeoning light. He stares past the beams of light into a fixed point in time. The ghost of an asteroid field lingers in his vision. 

“An asteroid field?”

“Be patient. You’ll like this.”

“This is an incredibly inefficient means of delivering an update on the Palanhi mining operation.”

“Be patient.”

The viewport is littered with rocks. Floating, grey rocks. The only remarkable thing about the glittering sea of debris is the shifting black-green hue as the light of the closest star penetrates atmospheric gasses.

Karrde smiles, his brow furrowing in amusement. “Surely there are more accessible choices for a sunrise.”

“For a love of all that is holy --”

One large cluster of rocks rotates into view, the edges slightly more distorted than the rest. He almost misses it: the landing lights across its surface, the streamline communications array. The side of the asteroid opens up, revealing a hidden landing bay. It's large enough to host a fully fledged smuggling operation and hiding in plain sight.

“You son of a bitch,” Karrde breathes. “You hid this from me?”

“Do I look like an idiot?” Tapper scoffs. “No one reveals their secret base to a partner _before_ a merger. As one legitimate businessman to another, I work hard to cover my asteroid.”

It’s a terrible pun for a terrible man. Karrde pinches the bridge of his nose, shutting his eyes as tears of joy bubble up with a laugh. “Quelev Tapper, I love you.”

Karrde turns his head and opens his eyes to face his partner. Once again, he finds himself alone in the empty office.

His gaze returns to the window: the sky above the forest canopy is blue-grey ordinary. The asteroid field is gone, dashed away by a burning star.

Karrde moves around the desk and gets to work. Afterall, he reminds himself, good business is balm for his Seoul.

**Author's Note:**

> 1) When I was picking out my persona for the Mandalorian Mercs, it was pointed out to me that "dawns" aren't really a celebrated thing to a star-faring culture that sees multitudes of celestial bodies. That's stuck with me for years.
> 
> 2) Getting high and watching the light crawl along the floor is absolutely inspired by Nickelback's Million Miles An Hour.
> 
> 3) I like the idea that Karrde's aware enough to know he's tripping but also exhausted enough to go with it.
> 
> 4) OH YEAH. Quelev and Karrde. I definitely ship it. Surprise!
> 
> 5) Please draw me fanart of Karrde searching for a hair tie.
> 
> 6) ...Aves is a disaster bi and you can't convince me otherwise.
> 
> 7) Today I learned that Quelev Tapper ran his business out of a hollowed out asteroid. GOALS.
> 
> 8) "Merger" is crime lord speak for "marriage". Pass it on.
> 
> 9) This hurt to write.


End file.
